


I Caught A Chill (And It's Still Frozen On My Skin)

by brokenhighways



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Mental Breakdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-23
Updated: 2012-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-30 00:35:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenhighways/pseuds/brokenhighways
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam doesn't like the way Dean looks at him, like he's some sort of burden. All of that on top of being confused by what's real and what isn't leads to him desperately seeking help elsewhere. He runs away and checks himself into a mental hospital, ending up on even more of a downward spiral. Will Dean find him before it's too late?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Caught A Chill (And It's Still Frozen On My Skin)

 

_The thing about having a brother like Dean Winchester is that he’s always there._

_You can always rely on him to be in your face and know what’s going on with you._

  
_Or at least think he knows what’s going on._  
He’ll always try and protect you. He’s stubborn and hardly ever listens to you but expects you to trust him because he’s older.  
You’re not a kid, but you always will be to him. He’ll never try and stop looking after you no matter what he thinks about you.  
Even if it drives him to drink, makes him so angry that he wants to yell and break things – you’re the one constant in his life.  
You’re the person that he’s always aware of.

_You’re person who can hurt him the most._

~*~  
Sam’s been through a lot of things. He’s been to hell, he’s fought an addiction to demon blood, he’s watched his brother being attacked by vicious hell hounds, he’s been shot, hell he lost his freaking soul to cut a long story short he’s been through a fucking _lot_. But not knowing what’s real is the hardest thing he’s ever faced. Seeing things that aren’t happening, feeling fear crush his heart every time. It’s hard. Some days he barely feels as though he’s floating above the surface. It hangs over him like a dead weight trying to make him drown. Only, it’s as though the weights been caught halfway down and it’s anchoring him to shore. He almost shot his brother and that scares him. How will he always be able to tell fact from…Lucifer’s – no his own mind’s games!

Even though he can’t remember much of what it was like to be soulless, he thinks that it would be better than this. He’s tired of the constant second guessing of himself. He’s fed up of pressing his thumb down on his palm just so he can _feel_. And, Sam’s scared. Scared that one day he’ll go too far. That he’ll try to climb his way out of the haze through pain and just lose himself in the process. That’s not all though. Dean and Bobby think that he can’t hear their quiet whispers, see the way that they look at him and even though he has to struggle to see what’s really there he knows that they think he’s a freak. Sure they’ve always thought it. But this is the first time that he’s truly believed it himself – he’s a freak. He sees things! Hell, he has a freaking fallen angel on his shoulder whispering poison into his ears. Just yesterday, he could have sworn that white, hot chains were burning into his skin. But none of it is real, so yeah, he’s a freak. He just…he can’t handle the way that Dean looks at him.

Sure he’s gotten those looks before. Back when his psychic abilities were kicking in and he had those premonitions, that’s when they’d really started. Since then it’d been one thing after another. But it different now. Dean looks at him with a sense of dread in his eyes. Like he’s lost Sam forever, like he doesn’t know Sam any more and it’s frustrating. Sam can see the obvious pain in Dean’s eyes and he hates it. He wants to scream and shout because he is hurting too. But, he’s never been one for melodrama. So he just looks the other way. He pretends to be asleep when he feels Dean’s eyes on him.

But eventually, something has to give and when Dean’s laid up with his broken leg Sam sees his opportunity. They’ve never been one to believe the doctors or anything related to the medical profession, but no hoodoo priest is going to get him out of this mess. Maybe what he needs is actual help this time; he’s still human after all. There must be some way to control these hallucinations, drugs he can take – anything instead of sitting around and feeling himself waste away as his brother looks on in anguish. He’s sitting on an armchair in the front room of Rufus’ old place as Dean and Bobby watch some show on television.

“You never left Sam…you’re still in the cage…with me” Lucifer’s smooth mocking tone creeps into his ear and Sam doesn’t even jump as he sees the angel appear in front of him. He swallows has his entire body goes rigid as he listens to the taunts and tries hard to bring himself back to reality.  
“Sam!” he’s thrown out of it by Dean yelling his name and he looks up to see Dean giving him that look again. The one that says, _“Sammy, you’re all screwed up and there’s nothing I can do. I can’t rescue you from this because…I don’t know what this is”_ or, well that’s what Sam assumes it to mean. He’s sure that he’s not far off.  
“Yeah. What,” Sam blurts out in reply, “I’m—I’m right here”. Dean just gives him a disbelieving look before he asks,  
“You okay?”  
“Yeah. I’m fine.”  
“Good” is all Dean says even though Sam can tell that he wants to call Sam out on his bullshit, but…Dean barely knows what to say to him these days. Sam doesn’t blame him. Bobby detects the charged atmosphere and starts to talk, maybe finishing off a conversation he and Dean were having before. Sam doesn’t know, and…it’s too much for him to try and care right now. Suddenly the effort of watching his every move and trying to appear normal enough for his brother not to try and drink his own weight in liquor is too much. He’s sick of it and he makes his final decision there and then.  
“Hey, uh, two-legs. We’re fresh out of grub. Want to make a run?” Dean is addressing him again and Sam looks up at him wearingly, ignoring the way Lucifer is hovering over Dean’s injured leg that’s propped up in front of him. He grabs his hand and presses down on the wound he’d gotten when he’d fallen on the glass. Lucifer flickers out eventually and he looks up and says,  
“Sure. Yeah”. Dean tosses him the keys and says something about being careful and Sam just nods and stands up, shrugging his jacket on as Dean watches him carefully.  
“And, uh, Sam?”  
“Yeah?”  
“Pie”. Sam holds back the snort that threatening to break free.  
“Obviously” he replies as he leaves the room. He walks out of the front door and makes a big deal out of slamming it shut but he doesn’t move of the stoop. He presses his ear to the door as he tries to make out the conversation. He doesn’t know why he just doesn’t walk out and leave, but he knows that he’s hoping that maybe Dean believes in him enough for Sam to want to stay.  
“Better? What do you mean, better? You just saw him!”  
“Saw him check out _once_. That’s progress!”  
“You're kidding!”  
“Look, seems to me that Sam's head ain't no different than your leg. People heal on a curve” Bobby argues with a sigh and Sam feels a pang in his chest as Dean opens his mouth to argue.  
“Not diff-- Bobby, I get this thing off in five days, I'm golden. Sam's not a curve. He's a frickin' time bomb.” Sam didn’t think he could feel any worse but he does. He’s a fucking time bomb. He wants to be so angry with his brother but he can’t be, not when he’s been thinking the same thing for weeks.  
“…because that’s not how it works, Bobby, _ever_!” Dean is saying as Sam starts to listen again, “All right? Especially not with Sam. The other shoe is gonna drop. It’s just a matter of when”.  
That right there is all Sam needs to hear. He won’t let Dean go through that. Maybe he’s being selfish – okay he’s _definitely_ being selfish – but his presence isn’t helping anyone. What’s to say that he won’t fuck up badly on a hunt and endanger Dean’s life?

He steps away from the door and takes a deep breath.  
~*~

The first thing he has to do is put some distance between himself, Dean and Bobby, and that means that he can’t keep riding around in the Impala, so he ditches it six blocks over and leaves his cell, and the supplies he bought. It’s only after he’s hotwired a non-descript sedan that he realises that he forgot the pie. It makes him feel a lot more sentimental than he should. After he leaves Whitefish, he ends up in Bozeman. It’s still Montana but he has to do research first. He can’t just turn up at a mental hospital and demand that they admit him without checking to make sure that he won’t end up locked in the basement of an abandoned hospital. He doesn’t intend on spending the rest of the day here. Sam knows what Dean’s like, he knows that his brother has this uncanny ability of being able to find him somehow.

Eventually he finds a small library and he connects his laptop to the Wi-Fi as he sits down at one of the tables. It's an hour until closing time, so it's relatively quiet and Sam's grateful for the silence. That is until a familiar voice slices into his newfound peace.  
"Good old, Sammy - running away." it's Dean, this time and Sam tries to swallow the bile rising up in his throat.

It's not usually Dean that appears and for second he wonders if his head is so messed up that he's gotten sloppy. Maybe he can't cover his tracks the way he used to, maybe he's still back in Rufus’s cabin asleep. But as he glances up he catches a glimpse of his reflection. He can see himself and no one else meaning that,  
"You're not real," he hisses, "Stop trying to screw with me!" Imaginary Dean smirks as he fizzles out of Sam's vision and Sam breathes out a huge gust of air. He reaches into his duffle and drags out the small flask of Johnny Walker that he's "borrowed" from Dean. He takes a long swig before he screws the cap and deposits the flask back into his bag. He barely even feels the liquid burning his throat. He looks up around him to see if he's attracted any unwanted attention but there's no one in his vicinity. Just the quiet hush of voices in the distance.

::::::

It's not going to be all that hard for him to disappear. He’s not stupid; he knows that Dean has ways of finding him. But usually he thinks that he’s always subconsciously wanted Dean to find him every time he has. So while he’s confident that he can vanish without a trace pretty easily he still has to think on his feet. Travelling to the other side of America is out of the question but he writes down the names of some hospitals in Colorado and Florida. He writes them out twice and prints out a map of the general towns where the hospitals are. While he wants to leave a fake trail, there’s no point if he alerts Dean to fact that he’s about to section himself. After he’s collected his printouts, he looks up hospitals in Seattle which is where he’s planning on going. He writes down the names of 6 ones and saves the maps on his email account and signs off. He deposits his laptop back in the case and takes a deep breath as he runs a hand through his hair. This is it, he thinks, last chance to back out.

:::

He makes it to the Seattle Community Mental hospital, two weeks, three flights and a carjacking later, the latter being unavoidable. He'd left most of his weapons of choice back in the trunk of the Impala but had kept a Beretta tucked into the back of his jeans - just in case. Idly he wonders if the owner of the car will alert the cops but he's soon distracted by the wind whipping around him, and the feeling of freedom, the storm before the calm. He almost forgets that he's driving himself into self-imposed confinement. But it's always there in the back of his mind, he's losing his sanity and he knows it. By the time he arrives he's alarmed and harried by the figment of imagination that's been riding shot gun with him. Some awful pop song is blaring from the sound system but it dies out as he kills the engine. He grabs his bag and gets out of the car and starts the ten minute walk it'll take to arrive at the hospital. Dean's on his mind as he walks slowly, bag slung over his shoulder, already warm hands shoved into his pockets. Sam wonders if he should have left a note, sent a text message or hell just confided in Dean but somehow this is the easier solution. It'll be better for Dean to think that Sam's just simply run away, than know that his little brother is so screwed up that he just can't handle _living_ anymore. Not the way they live. Hunting, Bobby - that's Dean's life. The drinking, the dejection and pain - Sam can't fix that anymore. He's not enough for his brother - not like this, and he can't help Dean. Usually being there is enough, his presence keeps Dean grounded. But too much has happened.

He's just no good to anyone.

:::

There's a bored looking woman at the reception when Sam eventually strolls into the foyer area of the hospital. He's not sure what the protocol is for checking himself into a mental hospital but, as long as his insurance can cover it, he's all set. Not that he has insurance but Sam Johnson does. It didn't take long for him to find somewhere offering fake ID, passport and insurance for a wad of cash, no question asked and he smirks. Dean would probably be proud of him, like...the old days when they trusted each other. But that's all water under the bridge; after all they're both jaded. They're both wary. It's not like they can live in the past forever.

"Can I help you?" the woman sitting behind the reception says and Sam looks at her, takes in her too orange to be real tanned skin, the simple black mascara spread thinly on her eyelashes which frame dark, brown eyes. Her tone is slow and steady, like she's been trained to sound that way. She clears her throat and Sam blushes as he realises that he’s been staring.

"I'd like to check myself in" he says simply as she regards him carefully. She doesn't say much in response, just tells him to take a slip and wait. He's the third person in the small waiting room she sends him to and he sinks down onto one of the hard, black plastic chair as everything catches up on him. His head is aching so badly that it's almost as though he can feel his brain throbbing against his temples. He feels dizzy and nauseous and sluggishly he moves his head up and tries to locate the nearest restroom just in case his stomach threatens to rid itself of its meagre contents. Briefly he regrets the fact that the small alcohol flask is empty. Used up back when he was at the several airports and he mixed them with sleeping pills so he didn't wake up screaming about how much his insides were burning in whatever nightmare about hell he'd just endured. Luckily for him, everything had gone relatively smoothly. He tries not to thinks if the ways that it might not have. A flash of heat and a waft of singed skin puts all of those thoughts to rest. He tries to hold it off but Lucifer appears next to him, cruel smirk planted on his face.

"Dean's going out of his mind with worry, Sammy" he says, "One would think that you didn't want him to know how screwed up you are, how I made you my sweet little bitch, over and over again". Sam doesn't know what provokes him to do what he does next. He's heard this all before, but...maybe the comment about Dean touches a nerve and he lashes out angrily. Lucifer laughs, cold and harsh as he ducks away from Sam's flailing arms. But Sam is just so angry, so filled with rage that he stands up, lunging forward as he advances closer. He's yelling too, it's a weird mixture of shut-the-fuck-up and just frustrated screaming and it feels good to just let it all out. But he doesn't feel better. It still hurts, he can still hear anguished cries, still feel traces of hell on his skin, hear that laugh echoing inside his skull. He feels himself sink and is startled when strong pair of arms grip him tightly.  
"Dean?" he calls out drowsily, as he wonders why his limbs aren't working properly, "Dean, you found me..." and for a moment he starts to believe, starts to hope. But then a voice cuts through the facade and brings him crashing back down to reality.  
"Try to stay calm, sir" it says and...It’s not Dean. He feels his long, gangly body being shoved into a wheelchair as his eyes are slipping shut.

::::::

When he wakes up he's disorientated and confused; it's quiet and still. Too still to be a motel room. Too still be Bobby's house. A memory flashes before his eyes and he remembers that Bobby's house is long gone. Instinctively, he calls out for Dean but there is no actual answer. He tries again, his voice hoarse, it's almost as though he hasn't used his voice for a while. A quiet beep startles him out of his inner monologue and he cranes his neck to the left to see what's causing the noise. He comes face to face with a monitor and suddenly images rush into his head, flash by flash each followed by a muted gasp as pain sears through his head. It feels as though he's on fire; like he's burning alive, his skin raw and roasting. Charred and littered with scorch marks. As he spasms he feels them grabbing him, they're holding him back - trying to keep him still but he shrugs them off. Just as suddenly as it'd all started it stops and Sam is left gasping for air, his hair limp and plastered to his forehead. He remembers everything, how Dean was driving himself into the ground one bottle of liquor at a time. He remembers running away. There's a blank between his arrival at the hospital and his waking up in this bed and for a moment Sam considers leaving. He can't afford to have gaps in his subconscious right now, not when he's confusing reality with what's real. But he feels a real sense of anger over the fact that he'd come here and promptly lost shit with a fucking figment of his imagination. There's no sign of Lucifer now though so he assumes that maybe he's done something right. Sam pushes his head down into the pillow as he leans back with an exasperated sigh and just tries to breathe. Sam's limbs are loose and he stretches out on the flat mattress. He wonders if he'd been sedated at any point, it might explain while he has an IV drip attached to his arm. Before he can over exert himself, he slips into a deep sleep.

He's suspended in air somehow. Meat hooks are digging into the flesh of his shoulders. White, hot pain spreads all over his body as the cold whispers and echoed cackles of laughter circle around his head. He wants to fight, wants to struggle but he's bound so tightly that all he can feel is pain, pain and more pain. It feels as though he's heart has been ripped out, leaving him with a huge gaping hole.

Nobody hears his silent screams.

:::

"So how are you feeling Sam?" Dr Roberts ask as he leaves through the sheets attached to his clipboard. It's the third session that he's had and his condition deteriorates even further between each one. Today, everything is just...so grey and lifeless and Sam can’t focus. He can't hold his fucking grip on reality for more than five minutes and it's frustrating to say the least. "Tell me about Dean," the doctor says when it becomes apparent that Sam isn't going to answer the last question, "How do you feel about him?".  
"Li-like he's better off without me--like I'm the reason why he's in self-destruct mode".  
"And why are you the reason?" the doctor's voice is smooth and calm and it pisses Sam off. He doesn't need Therapy 101. He needs to be okay, he needs to be fixed. Have all of his thoughts back to himself, he needs to lock the memories of hell away.  
"What happened to you? Something bad?"  
"I-I was stuck somewhere, just - so much pain. I just wanted it to be over." Sam doesn't know why the doctor is making him explain this again. He's said it over and over. Hell! This is a result of his being in hell. Hell, hell, hell! But they all think he's lying. They think he's trying to cover up something else that's happened and he can't blame them. They're out of their debt here, Sam's just...a lost cause. A broken, pathetic mess.

"Look, whatever it is that you went through - it's not the end of your life. You can overcome it Sam, but repressing it won't help you - it'll eat away at you...you have to let it go". The doctor sounds unsure and for a second Sam finds himself second guessing everything. Which is the whole point. He doesn’t want to second guess anymore. He wants to be sure, wants to know what the hell is going on around him.

“What if I let go and it kills me?” he asks not caring if the doctor has the faintest clue as to what he really means. He’s sure that many patients come in here spouting about the devil and the apocalypse because...that’s what crazy people do right? “What if my conscience can’t handle everything, what if the pain is so much that I just...fade away, like really fade away, like catatonia or something?” The doctor just looks at him with a - what Sam is assuming to be - feigned look of interest on his face and just says,

“You’re the one in control of your mind,” he says, ”It doesn’t control you”. Oddly enough, it sparks something inside of Sam. Hope. Dr Roberts is right, Lucifer, hell and the visions. They’re all figments of his fucked up sub-conscious. They’re all under his control. If he can just figure out a way to just...steer them elsewhere, then maybe...maybe he’ll be okay. But...it can't be that easy, hell it's NEVER easy.

Actively trying not to repress his memories is quite possibly the hardest thing Sam's had to do besides watching his brother die. It's painful and always fatal when he lets one slip through the cracks. It's not just Lucifer chattering away in his ear anymore, not just Dean and his cold words. No, they're all torturing him now. He feels thick chains around his neck, shackles on his ankles. It feels as though knives digging into his skin, fire breathing over him causing deep, white, hot pain to flow inside him. It’s worse than before; he stays locked inside his head for days at a time, strapped down to the bed because he's already damaged enough equipment. The doctor comes and goes, altering his medication each time. He takes them even though he feels as though he shouldn’t. These pills are for normal, regular guys. Sam doesn’t fall under that category anymore. . He doesn't like the effect they have on him, everything loses focus and gets duller and it makes him feel even more off kilter than he already is. But the nurse watches over him as he swallows them down. She asks to check under his tongue afterwards and despite the fact that he frowns at her, he obliges with no protest. These people have a job to do after all. Just stores them under his tongue and spits them out afterwards

Coming here was a mistake. Sam thinks that he's always known that, but it's blindingly obvious now. These people with their medication and therapy sessions can't help him. It's all come straight out of a textbook; none of them have lived in the world he does - none of them _know_. They don't know what it's really like, they don't believe his story and how can they truly help him if they think he's certifiable.

Sam doesn't blame them though, because that’s how they’ve been trained, that’s their job. They can’t just rip up the rule book because of one patient. Life doesn’t work like that; none of them will ever be able to help him properly.

Sam’s just not that lucky.

There’s a week long moment of clarity where Sam sees nothing. No Lucifer, no hell and it's weird. He can't bring himself to be happy about it because his instincts tell him that it's the calm before the storm. But he tries to utilise the time wisely. It's been three months since he's arrived here, a fact that shocks Sam because it doesn't feel that long. It feels like he's been gone for weeks, not months. He figures that it’ll be good for him to catch up on the news and finally work up the guts to get in touch with Dean and make sure he's okay. He reads a newspaper once automatically scouring the pages for possible hunts and Leviathan activity. There's a Dick Roman article and Sam snorts because he gets a strange vibe from the accompanying picture. Something isn't quite right and Sam's itching to get out there and find the answer.

The day before it all goes to hell, Sam contacts Dean. He's got an untraceable cell phone with him, obtained along with his fake documentation. He's nervous as he dials the number and he thinks about hanging up. He's never really considered how worried Dean would be, he hasn't really thought about the consequences at all. He's been assuming that he would get better and go back to Dean. Sam's never been that naive, even back when he was in college he'd never have thoughts things could be that simple.

_Oh Sam, Sam, Sam._

Sam flinches as Lucifer's voice reverberates in his mind.  
"Come on, come on, pick up the phone" he mutters under his breath.

_He hates you. You abandoned him. Again. All because you didn’t want to share me with anyone else. I’m touched Sammy._

"Who is this?" Dean's voice is rough and he sounds annoyed, but it is really good to hear his voice. So much so that Sam finds himself at a loss for words. What does he say to the brother he's deserted for three months? Because he doesn’t think a simple "Hi Dean" is going to cut it. It’s not going to convey how sorry he is, or explain why he ran away from Dean.

_Man, you're pathetic._

"Sam?" Dean says suddenly and Sam's heart jumps as his breathing becomes distorted and loud, "Look, just tell me where you are and I'll come and get you". He sounds concerned, sincere - and less irritated - but Sam knew his brother and he knew that Dean was angry.

"Angry?" Dean laughed bitterly, "I was but...not anymore - look, where are you? I followed your damn trail and ended up nowhere, I must be getting old or something but tell me, don’t tell me - I will find you". Sam blinks as he wonders if he’d said that last part out loud.

_He'll kill you, you ruined his life. He hates you._

"I just wanted to k-know how you were and --- dammit" Sam presses his hand over his forehead in a futile attempt to ease the pain away but it made no difference.

"What is it, what's wrong?" Dean asked but before Sam could answer he was hit by an avalanche of pain. The phone slips loose from his fingers as he cries out in agony and eventually someone bursts in and starts yelling about how they need to sedate him. Sam tries to claw at their hands, tries to tell them to stop because he isn’t sure if he'll wake up this time but he can’t get the words out - just screams. In all of the turmoil and commotion he forgets that he never hung up on Dean.  
::::

When Sam wakes up the first thing he notices is that the ceiling isn’t white. -Meaning that he’s not in the hospital anymore. He’s not sure why the hospital thinks that having bright, white decor will help anyone but he’s not an expert after all--and hold on, if he’s not in the hospital then where is he? He sits up slowly and finds himself face to face with Dean. Dean’s eyes widen and Sam can see different emotions flit through them before he settles on an unreadable expression. Sam has the bite back the urge to crack a joke because it wouldn’t go down very well but the awkwardness of the situation unsettles him. It reminds him of why he ran in the first place, because of this...breakdown in communication that he and Dean seem to have. He thinks that maybe it’s always been there, just...it’s more prevalent now after everything that they’ve seen.

After all the people that they’ve lost.

Sam looks away after a while, once it becomes obvious that Dean’s not going to break the silence. Idly he wonders if this is some sort of punishment, some sort of payback for his disappearing act. Maybe Dean will give him the cold shoulder while sneaking looks at him. Those secret, bewildered my-brother-is-screwed-up-and-there’s-not

hing-i-can-do-about-it looks. The very same ones that he ran away from.

_You know what your problem is, Sam - you think too much. Honestly. It’s like being stuck inside a teenage girl’s subconscious. Whine, whine, whine._

“He’s here, isn’t he?” Dean’s voice breaks into Sam’s thoughts and he looks up to see Dean looking around inquisitively, as he if he’s desperate to find something. At Sam’s puzzled look Dean sighs and explains, “Lucifer - you can still see/hear him”. Sam nods and Dean sighs again. It’s a weary, dismal sound and Sam finds himself blurting out,

“Sometimes he looks like y--other people”. He can see from the way Dean’s face falls that he caught his slip and he berates himself silently, “He’s not ever going to go away, and I’m not sure that I can deal with it so, maybe you should just forget about me, do some jobs with Bobby, and other hunters and I can help from wherever”. Sam’s not sure where this is coming from, but if there’s anything he’s learned from the last three months it’s the fact that being on his own won’t help him. Dean’s his brother, the one person who’s sort of obligated to be there for him and he can’t be if Sam won’t let him. Sam’s not sure why he’s spent his life knowing this, forgetting it and remembering again but Dean’s always there waiting.

That’s the one thing that never changes. However, it might take a while for them to get past this judging by what Dean says next

“I can’t listen to this, I just...I can’t” Dean says, in a resigned tone as he stands up and leaves the room without a glance back at Sam. The sound of the door slamming shut makes Sam jump.

_Oops, looks like you pissed him off. Hey, maybe he’ll disappear for three months too._

::::::::

Bobby enters the room Sam’s in around twenty minutes later, the disappointed look that Sam was expecting already pasted onto his face. He can’t say that he was expecting a different welcome but it still hurts all the same. He did it for them, but they won’t see it that way. Nothing he says will make him sound less like a selfish brat and...just, he feels like he’s this enigma that nobody can quite figure out. Not even Dean.

“He spent a month on the road lookin’ for you” Bobby says in a gruff tone and Sam feels overcome with shame.

_Tell that old drunk to go read a book or something, I much prefer your inane stream of thoughts._

“You and him,” Sam started to say in an accusatory tone before he paused and tried to dial it down, “Neither of you understand what’s like, you just talk about me behind my back, when I’m not there or when you think I’m out for the count and I snapped, okay - I just couldn’t handle it anymore”. Bobby looks surprised, like he genuinely has no idea that Sam heard him and Dean talking. He shrugs and says,

“We were worried about you”. There’s a hint of wariness in Bobby’s voice and Sam tries to push down the anger threatening to explode. This conversation shouldn’t be had with Bobby, he knows that but he just wants to put it all out there.

“More like you were worried about what would happen when I finally lost it completely - well congrats, you both missed the show”

“Boy, you better watch your tone with me!” Bobby’s voice was louder than usual and Sam’s mouth snapped shut, “Now forgive me if I don’t care for your whiny crap right now...the fact is we were and still are in the middle of another war here and you just...walked out on us, you didn’t confide in your brother - because I know that me and you have had are issues, but Dean’s your real flesh and blood and you just pushed him aside - like he was nothing”.

_Ouch. Come on Sammy, are you really going to let him accuse you of such preposterous things?_

“Would you just shut up! Stop messing with my head!” Sam finally turns to address Lucifer who gives him a mock pout in return. He’s been a constant presence, a constant thorn in Sam’s mind and nothing Sam has tried will make him flicker away.

“Who are you talking to?” Bobby asks worriedly but Sam ignores him in favour of responding to Bobby’s earlier comment.

“You have no idea what’s goes on inside my head Bobby, so don’t tell me what I think I feel. I don’t need a damn mouthpiece!”

“Well then let’s hear it,” Dean re-emerges into the small bedroom where Sam is and it’s only then does he really wonder where they are. He assumes that they are back in Rufus’ cabin but he doesn’t know the circumstances under which they’ve gotten him from the hospital. Sam swallows as Dean glares at him from where he’s standing in the doorway.

_Man, I wish I had popcorn._

“Just, shut up” Sam repeated as Lucifer slid down to the ground, sat down and stretched his legs in front of him and propped his feet upwards, “Leave me alone”. He could feel Bobby and Dean looking at him but he kept his head bowed down because he knows how they’d be looking at him and therein lies the problem.

“Sam - start talking, Bobby why don’t you go check up on that lead we found about where the Leviathans are holing up”. Dean takes charge of the situation so smoothly that Bobby has no choice but to leave the room reluctantly. Sam doesn’t say anything until the door clicks shut,

“He didn’t have to leave” he says and Dean spun around so quickly with an angry expression pasted on his face that Sam regretted saying anything.

“Start talking” Dean snaps and Sam runs a hand through his chestnut brown hair, brushing away the loose strands that are threatening to fall into his eyes.

“Well, uh, what do you want to know?” Sam asks because he’s confused here, he doesn’t know what Dean’s asking – why he left, or what it feels like to be him. Dean just rolls his eyes and walks over to the same bed that Sam’s been perched on since he woke up. He sinks down onto it with a weary sigh and it’s only then that Sam realises just how tired his big brother looks. His face is pale, drawn and haggard due to possible lack of sleep. And probably a whole lot of alcohol consumption.

“Start with why you left” Dean says, his voice gentler than before and Sam wonders if he’s supposed to find it soothing, because he doesn’t. The abrupt changes in mood leave him feeling off kilter and it takes him time to regain his bearings.

_Maybe I should start ripping your flesh off. Shred by shred. Might makes things a little more interesting._

“I—you said that I was a time bomb waiting to go off and I just, I thought that I’d be doing you and Bobby a favour by leaving – so you could fight the Leviathans without having to cart my spaced out ass everywhere”.

“I _know_ that you’re not that stupid Sam – it’s my job to look out for you, to cart your sorry ass around, hell I practically inflicted this on you”.

“Let’s not play the blame game, just…I’m to blame here, I know that but I wish you could see the way you looked at me. Like I’m a lost cause, like you can’t bear to see me like this and I just wanted to be better, for myself, for you and for Bobby”.

“Can you blame me Sam?” Dean asks, “You’re barely there sometimes, it’s like talking to a shadow. I don’t like seeing you that way, and I’m not going to sit here and twiddle my thumbs, try and make you feel better either because where has that ever gotten us? _Nowhere!_ ”

_He’s a little over dramatic, isn’t he? I think being stuck inside his head would be worse. Guess I better thank 'God' for small mercies._

  
“Even now, I can tell that he’s here screwing with you some more and what? You don’t want me to react to that?” Dean throws his hands up into the air in frustration as Sam just sits there and helplessly stares on.

“Next question, after you stupidly decided to leave – where’d you go, and nice work by the way – the trail to Colorado and Florida, boy did I walk right into that one”.

“I was in Montana for another day or so, to do some research on hospitals—”

“God, what provoked you Sam?” Dean interrupts suddenly, “Do you remember Martin? Is that how you want to end up? Alone and abandoned in a hospital full of…crazy people?! God only knows what they were giving you in there”. Dean shakes his head in disbelief and Sam clears his throat attempts continue but Dean starts talking again,

"How bad is it, I mean - I heard you on the phone, heard them doing...whatever. Luckily for me someone picked up the damn phone without the line getting cut off".

"And how'd you get me out?" Sam asks because he's been curious about how Dean got him out of Seattle Community since he woke up here. He still doesn't know where "here" is either.  
"Called Bobby, I'd been on the road looking for you while he holed up at Rufus' working on the Leviathan case, he printed up a fake transfer request on behalf of one Dean Thompson, I carted you out of there myself"

"I--" Sam started to say but Dean interrupts again and Sam feels the usual frustration start to build up. Dean's asked him to explain but won't give him the chance; it infuriates him and saddens him at the same time. Maybe Dean’s afraid of what he thinks Sam will say or hell, maybe he just doesn't want to hear.

_Maybe he hates you. Like I've been saying to you. I know best Sammy._

"Considering that not long before you ran off we got jumped by the Leviathans and you were out for the count before we snuck out, don't you think that we would have been even more worried, for f--".

"Just let me explain!" Sam shouts suddenly, because all of this is pointless. He's an asshole, selfish and cowardly but he knows all of that. Dean's mouth snaps shut and he tilts his head to one side as if to say, ‘Go on then’.

“I researched the hospitals and picked one, got some shady guy to make me fake ID, just in case,with a different last name only so that you’d never find the trail. I booked tickets under different alias to set up the fake trail so that you’d be lost if you tried to find me”.

“Gee, thanks” Dean mutters.

“This might sound like a whole pile of bullshit but I did it for you – so I didn’t keep on _worrying_ you”.

“I don’t believe you,” Dean shoots back, “Why not tell me before you left? Huh? Seeing as how I’m you’re reason for going – you _know_ how I feel about people running away or leaving, you and Dad have done it to me enough times, hell even _Cas_ went and got himself destroyed and you just leave, without one frickin’ word!”

“If I’d told you, would you have said “Sure, Sam I’ll drive you to the hospital”? Sam asks in frustration and Dean’s mouth opens instantly but it falls shut when he sees the look on Sam’s face. They both know what the answer’s going to be anyway.

“That’s not fair” Dean says eventually and Sam shrugs

“Neither is having your conscious scrambled, but it is what it is” he replies and Dean just sighs. It’s a sad, broken, dejected sound and it tears away at Sam’s heart a little.

_Well, aren’t you the diplomat._

“Ugh, shut up” Sam mumbles under his breath trying not to draw any attention to his words but Dean catches it. Of course he does. His brothers always been tuned into Sam 101, he’s always there and…even if the way Sam is now causes Dean pain, maybe…maybe the fact that Sam’s still here makes it worth it.

"If you could go back to before I had a soul, would you still get Death to give me back my soul?" Sam asks unsure of how Dean will take the question. But even after all that he did to Dean while he was soulless; he knows what the answer will be.

“You know I would,” Dean answers, “I know that you’d want me to as well, maybe not now, but when you really look back and remember all the jacked up shit you did you’ll know that I did what I had to do”.

“I know that already!” Sam protests but Dean just snorts and replies,

“Of course you do,” in a disbelieving tone, “You won’t, not until you’re free of this stuff happening inside your head and I think I have a plan, I just hope to God that it works”.

“What plan?”

:::::

Despite the fact that Sam’s back with Dean and Bobby, holed up in some non-descript two storey house that’s not as dilapidated as the places that they usual stay at, things haven’t changed much. Dean’s refused to tell him the plan and he and Bobby can often be found having hushed conversations with each other. Dean does a quick job with a spirit that turns up downtown, demanding that Sam stay put, leaving Bobby to keep watch.

“You’re not going to try and kill me again are ya?” Bobby says as they sit in the front room, Sam’s surfing the internet randomly while Bobby pretended to read from a heavy boom placed on his lap. He knows that Bobby’s only trying to break the ice but it’s not really making matters any better.

“What’s Dean’s plan?” he asks as he turns to look at Bobby, who squirms uncomfortably. Sam’s asked Dean over and over but his older brother won’t budge or so much as spill a single detail about what he’s up to and it makes Sam nervous.

“I can’t tell you” Bobby says and the fact that he’s not even bothering to deny any knowledge about it tells Sam that this is another dead end as far as finding out goes, “It’s for your own good”.

::::

  
Dean kills the engine and Sam hops out of the passenger door eagerly. It’s been months since he’s done any hunting and he can feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins. There’s pure adrenaline flowing in his veins at the thought being able to just kick some ass for the first time in a long time. A small part him wonders if this is part of Dean's 'plan'. He still hasn't figured it out yet and Dean's been acting pretty shady since they hit the road.

_Please. This is all going to end in tears Sammy._

Sam ignores Lucifer’s voice; he’s not going to let a figment of his imagination ruin his fun. Oh no, he’s intends on enjoying every second of this. Though he’s not sure what this is. Dean’s been cagey about this hunt ever since he told Sam about it but Sam’s been so excited about finally doing something that he hasn’t really questioned his brother. Something he wishes wasn’t the case now that they’re here because something’s off. It’s too quiet, too still and Dean still isn’t talking.  
“Dean, what’s going on – what are we doing here?” he asks finally but Dean ignores him, “Dean”  
“Look, just go with me on this one, okay?” Dean asks and Sam huffs quietly as he looks up to survey the building.

They’re outside an old, derelict warehouse. The windows are either smashed or boarded up and there’s a giant crater in one of the slats that make up the roof. Silently Dean starts to march over the rickety entrance door and Sam follows, pulling his stainless steel Taurus PT-92 9mm pistol out from his jeans. Dean pushes the door open, the sound of the rust hinges creaking causes Sam to wince but he follows Dean into the darkness. Dean dumps the duffel that he’s holding onto the ground and pulls out a one of those emergency torches that have a handle. He flicks it on and Sam can see more of the room. It’s spacious, with nothing really inside it. The walls, a grey, damp and cracked in some places and it smells like some sort of sewage facility is nearby.

“See, here’s the thing Sam, we checked the omens and the signs and there’s been freaky weather, thunderstorms, snowstorms you name it. And all signs indicate to Lucifer being here” Dean starts to explain and Sam frowns.

“What?” he exclaims and Dean just starts to pace around before he speaks again,

“I’m saying that Lucifer is real and he’s really here, what you’ve been seeing and hearing – it’s really him”.

_Oh darling Dean, let’s see how this cunning plan of yours will work._

“It’s not real, you’re the one that said it to me!” Sam’s confused now because if Lucifer is real, how come that he’s the only one who can see him, why is he the only one that can hear him.

“He’s bound to you and you only but he’s real, and if you let him, he’ll take over your body again Sammy, you’ll become Lucifer”. Sam’s eyes widen comically as he tries to take in what Dean is saying, it’s twice as difficult because fucking (he-might-be-real) Lucifer is saying things inside his head and he’s just confused.

_You’re my little bitch boy Sammy, would I really do something like that?_

“Dean, this is not funny – stop screwing with me man,” Sam says because hell maybe this is punishment for him running off, maybe Dean is angrier than he thought but this? This isn’t the way to go about things at all – not if Dean wants him to even be able to pretend that he’s one piece, “Look, I know you’re pissed at me but I’m sorry – I am”. Dean’s face twitches slightly and Sam sees a hint of sadness in them briefly before they harden and he looks at Sam and says,

“I’m not screwing with you – Lucifer is out there and if you don’t stop him, he’s going to kill everyone, I need you to believe me Sammy…just trust me”. Sam waits to see if there’s any smart comeback from Lucifer via this head but there’s nothing; just radio silence and God, what if Dean’s right. What if Lucifer’s disappearance means that he’s out there right now slaughtering someone?

“H-he’s real? It’s not just a figment of my imagination?” Sam asks tentatively and Dean nods enthusiastically. Sam's not so sure that Dean's being truthful, but the swarm of images and memories increase tenfold and...maybe it's a sign.

“Yes! And I’m going to help you get rid of him, just like we’ve done before okay, this is just a normal hunt and me and you are going to take care of the situation before anyone gets hurt”.

“O-okay” Sam agrees, “And, how – how are we going, to, we’d need to trap him and t-then kill him” Sam’s winces as a sharp pain starts to build up near his temples, “Dean!” Dean just about makes it to where Sam is standing as he collapses into a heap on the ground and he hoists Sam up and says,

“Come on Sam, focus – can you see him right now?” Sam blinks as he tries to scan the room but the pain is making him dizzy and there are black spots in his eyes. He’s about to shakes his head but then he spots him. Standing in the centre of the room underneath a giant overhead fan.

“He’s there,” he whispers, “Underneath the fan”. Dean flies into action and before Sam knows what’s happening a ring of fire has lit up the room. Lucifer just gives Sam a look that says, ‘Really?’ and generally looks unimpressed but he doesn’t move out of the ring of fire.

“Is that holy oil?” Sam asks, “You’ve trapped him and what, we’re just going to leave him here?!” He cries out in pain as another wave of agony slams into his head and Dean shoots him a concerned look and mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like son of a bitch.

“No,” he says forcefully, “You’re going to kill him with this” and he reaches into the duffel and pulls out a long dagger. The kind that Castiel and the angels used to carry and idly Sam wonders where the hell Dean even managed to find one. He’s not sure if they ever rescued the one they had back from when Cas tried to make them kiss the ground he walked on but it’s not important now. What’s important is that Dean wants to him to kill Lucifer who is now real and while his head feels like there’s 12 different marching bands having a concert inside of it. He just…he can’t do it.

“All you have to do is, get up – go over there and kill him” Dean says sternly and only then does Sam realises that he’d landed on the ground again, “I know it hurts and it feels as though it’s impossible but I believe in you Sam, I know that you can do it”. Sam closes his eyes gently and wills himself to calm down. He tries to block out Dean, tries to block out the way the heat from the flames are reminding him of fires of hell. He ignores that pitying smirk on Lucifer’s face and slowly he begins to ascend. Dean stands back and he gives Sam a nod that says, “Go on” and Sam stumbles slightly as he stands up completely.

Slowly he makes his way over to the ring of fire, it’s not a big ring – it’s smaller than the one they used on Gabriel at least so Sam should be able to stab this douchebag without setting fire to himself. Lucifer grins at him as Sam approaches him and Sam scowls at the gesture.

“Oh, don’t tell me that you’ve finally grown some balls Sammy” Lucifer says and it’s not in Sam’s head for once and it throws Sam off kilter for a few seconds and he’s slow to respond.

“It’s _Sam_ ” he says as he darts forward and thrust the dagger straight into Lucifer’s heart, a strange feeling erupts inside of him as a bright, white light burst out of Lucifer’s vessel and Sam gasps as he yanks the dagger out. Lucifer’s glaring at him with a look of pure evil in his eyes,

“I’ll be back for you Sam Winchester, you’re _mine_ ” he says as the light grows even brighter and Sam’s forced to shield his eyes until it dims and eventually dies down. The vessel lands on the ground limp and pale and Sam feels a sense of relief and satisfaction. He did it! He’s managed to get rid of Lucifer. He waits to see if there’s any lingering voices in his mind but there’s nothing just pure tranquillity.

“No, I’m not” he says in response to Lucifer’s last words as he lets the dagger slip loose from his fingers.

He’s free.

::::

It’s a week later when Sam and Dean finally get to talk to one another. The post mortem of what happened in upended by their run in with another of their Leviathan ‘friends’ and find themselves on the brink of death once again. Ironically, they end up back in Montana, in Rufus’ cabin where it all began. Bobby is away on a hunt somewhere with another hunter so it’s just him and Dean.

“I guess we should talk about it” Sam says quietly as Dean takes a swig of his beer. His brother’s still chugging down liquor and beer like nobody’s business and while he’s worried, he knows that things will sort themselves out. All he can do is just…be here.

“Do we have to?” Dean says his eyes firmly planted on whatever cooking show is on the screen right now. As the chef hacks a pepper with a small knife Sam feels the faintest of stirrings of a fading memory and he looks away as he rolls his shoulders uneasily, “You good?” Dean’s looking at him expectantly and Sam makes a not to be more discreet about any discomfort in future.

“I feel great!” he says, wincing at the fake enthusiasm in his voice, “It was never really Lucifer was it?” It’s sad that he even has to ask but after everything he just has to be sure. Sam’s always going to be second guessing him and whatever is happening around him because something tells him that Lucifer was just the tip of the iceberg. That locked away in the chambers of his mind and tarnished soul there’s something deeper and sinister lurking around, waiting to be unleashed. But he’s going to try his hardest to keep it all locked down where it belongs.

“Nah,” Dean says, “But it was the only solution that I could come up with and, hell anything would have trumped a frickin’ mental hospital!”

“Huh,” Sam replies with a chuckle,” I guess you’re right”.

“Always am”.

There’s a long silence after that while Sam tries to think of something to say and Dean appears to be engrossed in the TV show. Sam knows better though, he can see that Dean’s tense and worried and stressed about something. They are in being hunted down by Leviathans after all, that’s enough to cause anyone stress. But he can tell that Dean is worried about him as well. And it kills him, because he doesn’t want Dean to worry about him for once, he just wants Dean to…simply be okay.

“Hey Dean?” he calls and Dean turns to look at him, an expectant look on his face, “I really am sorry, just so you know for everything…I feel like I’m always letting you down, y’know”. Dean pulls a face at him and Sam rolls his eyes at Dean’s scorn for anything resembling a “heart to heart”.

“We’re good” is all he says but the look he gives Sam pretty much says, I know.

Sam might not always be over this new part of himself, even though he’s scared, he thinks that as long as he has Dean by his side everything might work out. Even as a shadow lurks in his peripheral vision and a distant murmur echo's inside his head he thinks that one day he'll be better than just 'okay'. Better than 'hanging on by a thread', because sometimes you need to be able to count on at least one person to ground you, to make you realise that your life is worth something.

The one thing Sam is certain of is that as long as they have each other - they’re good.

**  
**


End file.
